


Gallagher

by youwalnut



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Alcohol, Anxiety, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, Eventual threesome?, Explicit Language, F/M, Jealousy, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, Smooching, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-06-24 17:19:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19728232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youwalnut/pseuds/youwalnut
Summary: 100% self-indulgent story for my sole survivor, Anaïs Gutierrez-Gallagher.





	1. Chapter 1

The spring air smelled sweet and light as she leaned back against a rock. Through the budding branches, sunlight dappled her freckled skin and she exhaled a plume of wispy smoke. She looked up to the too blue sky, watching the smoke dissipate into the background of fluffy, white clouds. The trail was perfect this time of year. Still too early for “hikers" with their giant baskets of necessities and fleets of children who didn't want to be there, but late enough that the trees were starting to bud and the snow had been long melted.

She got plenty of the trail year-round as a park ranger, but these peaceful moments alone, even away from her fiancé, Nate, rejuvenated her in a way nothing else could. Well, maybe a good sativa, but this was a lot easier to come by. Maybe it was the stress from their upcoming nuptials or the fact that Nate wanted to try for kids right away. Something about the stress of war, wanting to carry on the Gallagher name. It felt like he was trying to reign her in, but he was a decent man, and that was all she could really ask.

She leaned forward from her perch on the warm rock to continue her hike, crinkled joint between her lips. Only a couple more miles to the summit, then she'd head back home. Back to Nate's stifling embrace and the comfort of her own house. This trail was familiar, safe. One she had hiked hundreds of times herself or on patrol. However, these rocks aren't right. This trail wasn’t supposed to look like this. Where had she gotten off the trail? What happened? When did it get so dark? Disoriented and confused, she hadn’t realized how close she was to the edge of the plateau, teetering dangerously close to the edge. 

Blinding, paralyzing fear wracked her body, and she fell. Like a rock and weightless, at the same time. She wanted to scream and grab at the rock face, but she couldn't. Her body was suspended in time, frozen in the fall as she plummeted downwards, awaiting the impact. Like a rocket, she sat up in the dingy bed, crying out into the darkened room.

“General? You okay?” Preston stood, turning on the light, checking on his friend. He knew nightmares affected her, but he had always assumed it was stuff from the Vault, not anything from before. She hadn’t elaborated and he wasn’t the type to pry.

“Yeah, yeah.. just another nightmare,” she panted, clicking at her Pip-Boy to illuminate the screen. 4:30. “We need to get going, anyway. I wanna make it to Goodneighbor before noon and Valentine said super mutants could be a problem..”

“Right.” He stood, pulling on his coat and hat. Preston looked at the laser musket in his hands, glowing that ever eerie red, nervously attempting to breech the gap. “Anaïs? You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“Of course, Preston,” she answered, pulling on her dark leather armor.

“Right, so, if this was really just another nightmare, you cou-"

“Just another nightmare. So drop it.” Her words were terse and she stood from the bed, tightening the holster on her thigh. Anaïs rounded her shoulders and stretched her neck as she crossed the room to open the door. As usual, Vadim and Yefim were bickering as she and Preston walked into the main area of the bar. She wondered when either of them actually slept.

“Good morning, Gallagher! Preston!” Vadim all but bellowed, his voice echoing in the ancient dugout. 

“Would you like us to hold the room for another night?” Yefim asked, masticating the syllables. Their accents felt put of place in this post apocalyptic world they had carved out, but it reminded Anaïs of Boston before the bombs.

“Don't plan on us, but you know how things can change?” Their tones were too chipper for this early in the day. One could tell Yefim thought this, too.

“Ha! That I do!” Vadim barked. “Anything exciting planned for the day?”

“Same soup, reheated.” The expression was lost on the brothers. And Preston for that matter. “Same shit, different day, boys,” she hollered back from the doorway.

Diamond City was always a bit jarring, no matter how often she was there. Seeing your favorite baseball team's stadium turn into a village of plywood and rusted, corrugated metal was bizarre. Anaïs fidgeted with the leather straps of her chest piece, smoothing wrinkles in the shirt underneath. She cleared her throat before speaking to her companion.

“Figure we’ll head east, and follow the Freedom Trail there. It's around the old Scollay Square, right?”

“I think that’s what it was called.” The early morning air was cold, but nothing like it had been before the bombs. Boston Januaries always sucked the air from your lungs, no matter the year. Preston pulled his scarf a little higher around his neck.

“Have you ever been? To Goodneighbor?” She pulled her assault helmet on before walking past Danny in the security booth.

“No, but I've heard some things..”

“Nefarious things?” Her voice was muffled and airy from behind the mask. Wordlessly, Preston nodded his head. “Me too. But if Valentine said this is the place, this is the place.”

The walk to Goodneighbor was mostly quiet, save a run in with some ferals and a single super mutant outside a diner, but it was enough to wear Anaïs's paper-thin patience. She didn’t give the raider walking down the street the time of day before shooting him in the chest with her Sig Sauer. Quickly, she dug in his pockets, taking what little loot he had: .38 rounds, a couple caps, and a toy car that she planned on dismantling for parts.

The gaudy neon sign was a welcome sight. Any opportunity to not have someone up her ass about one thing or another. Get away from Sanctuary and Diamond City, both. Her relief was short lived when they pushed open the heavy, metal door. A conglomeration of debris, garbage, and, more than likely, bodily waste greeted them right inside the door. An automatron looked up from her counter almost immediately to watch the pair stand in the shadow of the makeshift walls.

“Oh, Dios mío,” she muttered under her breath.

“We'd, uh, better watch our step, General,” the minuteman replied, this disgust visible on his face. She nodded her head and exhaled, stepping around the refuse. She was thankful for the respirator on her helmet, but it could only mask so much of the smell. She tried to get away from the pile as quickly as she could, but they were cut off by a large, presumably tanked, man. He staggered up to them, a lightweight SMG slung on his hip.

“Hold up, there. First time in Goodneighbor?” The man's hands came to a rest on his belt, drawing attention to the homemade gun. “Can't go walkin’ around without insurance.”

Anaïs rolled her brown eyes behind the mask and huffed. Preston, clearly unimpressed, gripped his musket a little tighter, adjusting his grip to intervene, if needed.

“I just shot some chump in the chest for looking at me. Is this really how you wanna die,” she growled, holding up her hand, signaling Preston to stand down, “or would you like to back off and start over?”

“Now, don't be like that,” he slurred, placing an uninvited hand on her shoulder. “I think you’re gonna like what I have to offer.” He towered over her by at least a head, but the force from the heel of her hand meeting his nose dropped him like a gunny sack full of bricks. Blood poured from his nostrils, instantly coating his face and the cobblestones surrounding his head. Anaïs hadn't intended on killing him, but the following slug in his chest made the decision for her.

Preston watched the crowd that had gathered; a couple of ghouls, some drifters, and the same automatron that had watched them walk in had filtered into the street to watch the commotion.

“Talk about making an entrance..” he whispered to her.

“Shit. Shit, shit.” Anaïs turned back to face him just as a ghoul in colonial dress walked from a nearby alleyway. Her mask hid the fear on her face. For that, she was thankful.

“Woah ho ho! I like you already,” the ghoul proclaimed, extending his arms to his sides. She had never really spoken with a ghoul, and the raspiness of his voice surprised her. “Walk in to a new place and make a show of dominance? Nice.”

This surprised her more.

“Uh, thank you?” It wasn’t supposed to be a question.

“Name's Hancock. I’m the mayor of the fine city you see around you. Everyone is welcome in my city, so long as they remember who's in charge.” With that, he tapped his temple with a ruined finger. Anaïs was intrigued by the grooves that played along his face. Marred skin clung around his lips and followed the line of his sharp cheekbones, like rock eroded under running water.

“Of the people, by the people. You feel me?” His expression appeared to be genuine, but she found it hard to tell with his darkened sclera masking his intentions.

“Heh, yeah. I suppose I do.” She couldn’t see the look Preston shot at the back of her head. Her hands slipped into the back pockets of her tattered jeans and she rocked back onto the heels of her cognac colored boots. “Escucha, Hancock, could you tell me how to get to the Third Rail? We're supposed to be meeting an associate.”

The ghoul smiled and pushed up the front of his tricorn hat.

“Only one of my favorite establishments.” His hand draped around her shoulder and Preston readjusted the grip on his gun again. He walked her closer to the Old State House, so she could see down an alleyway. “You take this alley down and it’s right there on the left. Pre-war subway station. Tell Charlie I sent you. He won't treat you any better, but I like to feel like I have some clout around here.”

He clapped her on the shoulder and gave her a quick wink before turning to leave with his entourage. The Vault dweller gave Preston a beleaguered shrug.

“I guess..” he responded, not keen on walked down a tight alley with drifters and chem addicts.

“Preston, we're fine. Subway's just around the corner.”

The door man pointed them down the stairs, toward the throaty warble of a female vocalist. Valentine would pick a place like this. Just seedy enough, jazzy. Something that totally got the detective noir shtick. Thick clouds of smoke loomed above the patrons, with the singer standing on the stage, not obscured by the smoke in her sequined, red dress. A Mister Handy whirred behind the bar, wiping the counter with a cleanish rag. Valentine's amber eyes caught Preston's attention before Anaïs noticed him.

“General? There he is.”

“Súper,” she said, handing the minuteman a handful of caps. “Would you mind grabbing me a beer? Get one for yourself, too, but I don't think I should keep him waiting. He already looks a little growly.” Preston gave her a grin and stepped around her to order from the robot. Anaïs approached the synth's table, his scrutinizing gaze bore holes in her cheeks.

“Gallagher.” Valentine's voice sounded more tinny than usual. Perhaps it was the reverberation from the subway tunnel.

“Hey, Nick. You weren't here too long, were you?” His look softened.

“Oh, no. Not at all.” He paused to light a cigarette. “I got here maybe a half hour or so before you got here.”

“Ah. Good. We would've been sooner, but I got caught up by an extortionist and had to break his nose.” Valentine laughed at how matter-of-factly she admitted to roughing someone up.

“’Atta girl.”

“Knew you'd approve. I thought Preston was gonna shoot him in the face before I got the chance to hit him,” she said, throwing her thumb over her shoulder to motion to the man at the bar and sitting at his table.

“Probably for the best he didn't. Not that I think anyone woulda cared if he had been shot, but keep the Minutemen in good standing with the citizens, right?” He took a long drag of his cigarette and blew the thin smoke out his nose.

“Oh, mierda. I don't think I told you: I’m the general of the Minutemen now,” she said proudly. With impeccable timing, Preston returned with the drinks. “Preston appointed me.”

“You deserved it,” Preston responded, making her jump. He held out a room temperature brown bottle, which she gladly took. She had grown accustomed to beer at any other temperature than ice cold.

“Thanks, Preston..” she mumbled, looking at the bottle in her hands.

“Ma'am, yes, ma'am,” Valentine teased, giving an exaggerated salute. She chuckled awkwardly and took a long swig of her beer, not feeling deserving of her role, at all.

“Guys, please.. we have business to attend to.”

“Sure, sure. Irma said Amari was with a client when I first showed up, but she is expecting us today. I kept the nature of our visit to myself. Figured it was safer that way.”

He was probably right. Valentine always was. She hoped he would be right about this doctor being able to help them.

“Yeah, finish our drinks and head over?”


	2. Chapter 2

She stumbled out of the Memory Den, back into the cold Commonwealth air. She longed for the safety of her life before the war. Before Nate and Shaun. Even that trail in Maryland would be a welcome escape. Preston and Nick had both said something to her, but she was numb to the world. In order to find her son, she had to go into the Glowing Sea then into the Institute. To say the thought alone was harrowing would have been an understatement. In the few months she had been out of the Vault, she had been told to avoid radiation almost as many times as she had been told to avoid the Institute.

“What? I’m sorry, I didn't..” she managed. Someone had turned her around to look at them, but nothing made sense. Big hat. Preston. “Preston?”

“Yeah, General. It's Preston. Look at me, focus, ‘kay?” His hand guided her face to look at him. “Are you okay? I know it's scary, but we have people, we can do this. You can do this.” She wrung the fabric of her helmet in her hands and hot tears stung her eyes without spilling over her dark lashes.

“You're right, Preston, you're right. I can do this,” she sniffled flatly.

“You’ve got power armor, rad-x, people who would be more than willing to help you,” Valentine chimed in from somewhere behind Preston. There was no way she could throw herself into the Glowing Sea alone, and she certainly didn’t want to bring one of her friends at the risk of them getting hurt. Mentally, she went through the list of people she could bring along with her. Both Deacon and Glory were busy with Railroad stuff. Sanctuary needed Preston too badly to throw him into the radioactive fire. Nat needed Piper. Nick was.. out of sorts after the Memory Den. She exhaled and pinched her eyes closed.

“Gentlemen, if you would excuse me, I need a drink and to scream. Alone, preferably.” She ran a hand down her weary face, the sunset casting haunting shadows over her freckled features. “You wanna get a room? I’ll be up.. later, probably. Nick, you’re welcome to stay, but I don't think I’ll be good company.”

“Nees, are you in any state to-" Valentine began.

“I'm fine. Will be fine. I just need to.. clear my head,” she snapped. “I have to go back to Sanctuary before I go down anyway, so I’m not running off or anything. Hand to god.” The detective didn’t look convinced.

“I trust you, General. With my life.” Preston's words pulled her back in, putting an abrupt stop to her reeling. His hands came off her face and wrapped around her shoulders in a quick hug. She hugged back as best as she could, her arms pinned under his.

“You don't know what that means to me. Thank you,” Anaïs mumbled against his chest.

“I'll get a room. Take all the time you need,” he muttered into her dark, wild hair. “I’ll see you later tonight, okay?”

“Okay.”

Practically the same crowd was in the Third Rail as was there earlier in the day. It must've been the town's collective day off. The tables were full. The bar was practically full, save a few seats on the far end. Two angry-looking Gunners stomped out of the back room and bumped her on their way past.

“Excuse you..” she growled under her breath. She made her way to one of the empty seats at the bar. A drifter stood from the seat next to her and walked away. She guessed they had seen her shoot that guy in the middle of the street. Whatever. The Mister Handy bartender looked down the bar at her and she asked for a bourbon over the dull roar of the patrons. She sat her helmet on the bar and ran her hands down her face. She inspected her hands and wondered when her cuticles got so filthy. The idea of a fresh manicure seemed so foreign, even though she had just gotten on two months ago. Well, sort of. 210 years and two months. She thought back to her hands before the bombs fell. Perfect, pale pink manicure to set off the delicate diamond wedding band she had insisted against. Why she wore it that first month out of the Vault was yet unknown to her. They certainly didn’t act like they were married after Shaun was born, so why did she feel the need for it? The bartender placed a water-spotted low ball in front of the Vault dweller and poured the topaz liquid.

“Start a tab. I’m good for it,” she grumbled. The drifter who sat down next to her went almost unnoticed, but he cleared his throat when he sat. She cast a sideways glance at him, giving him a visual pat down. Bandolier, duster, scruffy-looking. Clearly thought bullet casings made exquisite accessories. Anaïs rolled her eyes. Mercenary. She looked back at her hands, taking note of the strip of pale skin where her wedding band used to be. The mercenary had one, too.

“Uh, hi,” he repeated a little louder. “Something got you distracted?”

“My ex husband.” No use in lying to the guy. If she was lucky, she'd scare him off. No dice.

“Oh, I, um-" he started. “Listen, if he left you, obviously the guy was an idiot.”

“I left him,” she took a sip of the bourbon, the alcohol burning in her chest as she swallowed. “But you are right. He was a fucking moron.”

The mercenary laughed, bringing his own glass of clear liquid to his thin lips. When Anaïs finally looked at him, she noticed his keen eyes, quick and bright. He was a decent looking guy under all that Commonwealth.

“I’m Anaïs.” Don't you flirt with him, bitch, she chastised herself.

“Anaïs.. pretty name. I’ve never heard that before,” he said with a crooked smile. “RJ MacCready.” He held out a hand, offering a handshake. She took it, and his hands were calloused and long, in contrast to hers, small and delicate. 

“What is it you do, RJ MacCready?” she asked, bringing the bourbon back to her lips for a drink. He chuckled.

“Try to survive, mostly. I’m a hired gun.”

“Oh, I bet there's money in that line. The Commonwealth is wild.”

“The caps are good. How about you, Anaïs..?”

“Gutierrez.” Why did she say her maiden name? “Gallagher. Anaïs Gutierrez-Gallagher. It's a mouthful,” she laughed awkwardly. “I’m the General of the Minutemen, so that’s what most people call me. Or Gallagher. Or Neesa. Or Guts. Take your pick, really.”

“Holy sh-crap, the Minutemen are back?”

“From the sound of it, we never left, papi,” she teased. His brows raised with the nickname.

“Heh. Right.” His blue eyes looked down at the glass of vodka. “What brings the General of the Minutemen to Goodneighbor?”

She wondered if she should lie to him. Maybe not give the full truth. For now, at least.

“I’m looking for my son, Shaun.”

“That's rough. I’m sorry.” He seemed genuine enough. Probably still wanted all of her caps, though. She may have been out of the Vault for only a few months, but she knew his type. Could pick any other person just like MacCready from a line up. Not that his type was a bad thing, but it wasn’t typically attached to deep, blue eyes and cheekbones sharp enough to piece a deathclaw's hide.

“It's fine. I’m gonna get him back. I know I will.” Anaïs ran her finger around the edge of her glass before picking it up and downing the rest of the liquid. RJ ordered another round from the bartender, who he called Charlie, telling him to save some time for himself and leave the bottles.

People filtered in and out of the bar, ordering their drinks and contributing to the ever-present haze of smoke. Anaïs and MacCready stayed in their seats at the bar for a while, before making their way to the back section. He had called it the VIP section, but she was sure it was somewhere people brought others to make a move. But he never did. They talked about her accent, pieces of his time in the Capitol Waste, how she was born not far from where he grew up, but not when. Before they knew it, hours had passed and Charlie was doing last calls and settling tabs.

“What's your price?” Anaïs slurred, her legs crossed as she slouched next to the merc on the couch. He swallowed audibly and stammered.

“I-I'm not.. if you're looking for a friend or a good time, I'm not your guy. I wanna- that's not who I am.” She straightened up in the seat and smiled at him.

“As much as I would enjoy that, I’m looking for an extra gun. Besides, I’m gonna have to do some stuff in the near future that may look bad to my Minutemen friends.”

He watched her with some degree of uncertainty, her dark eyes glistening under the low-watt bulbs.

“My going rate is 250, firm, but for you, I’d do 200.”

“I’ll give you 300 if you don't run screaming after I tell you what we'd have to do.”

“Deal.”


	3. Chapter 3

The sunlight poured in through the boarded windows of the Rexford, much to her dismay. The sickly, acrid stench of cooking chems filtered up from the lower levels of the building, making her hungover stomach churn and bubble. Preston had already left the room; it was likely he was gathering provisions or ammunition for the long walk back to Sanctuary. Anaïs turned to her side and inspected the hotel room. It didn’t compare to The Dugout. Yefim would appreciate her saying that, no doubt.

  
Footfalls approached her room at the end of the hallway. She figured it would be Preston, coming back with his early-morning spoils. She knew she didn’t say it enough, or express it eloquently, but she appreciated the hell out of Preston Garvey. He would always support her choices, but keep her grounded, have her back, so to speak. And with his tall, solid stature and stoic face, her backup was always imposing. Anaïs could always count on Preston to shoot straight with her, which wasn’t common for the life they’ve carved out for themselves after the bombs. If he wasn’t so damn noble all the time, they could be a decent couple, she thought to herself. She huffed a quiet laugh and ran her fingers through her snarl of dark hair.

  
The knock on the door almost surprised her when it finally came. The fact that it didn’t swing open a beat later surprised her more. Not Preston. She furrowed her brows when they knocked again.

  
“Jesus, I’m coming.. impaciente mierda,” she muttered under her breath. Her bones cracked as she stood from the bed, and she felt like all the alcohol from last night coursed through her body again. More gruffly than entirely necessary, she whipped the door open and hissed ‘what,’ before seeing who was standing there. Exactly where she told him to meet her. Not that it made any difference to Anaïs.

  
“Uh, you told me, um, to meet you here?”  
MacCready. Shit.

  
“Oh, right. Yeah. I was just getting ready to leave, so good timing.” Liar. “Come in, I was putting on my armor and we'll head out.” He made himself right at home and sprawled comfortably on the worn down sofa, watching her pull on her leg guards.

  
“So, what, exactly, is the plan? I know you said something about the Glowing Sea and finding your kid, but..”

  
“That’s about all I know. We're looking for a scientist, somewhere out there. Figure we'll head south and hope for the best.” She straightened and tightened her holster. “But first, we're going northwest to get power armor and resupply.”

  
MacCready stood, too, his rifle slung over his shoulder by a tattered leather strap. The room was back to its original-ish state. As close as it probably could be, given the apocalypse and all. She scooped up her backpack, slinging it over he shoulder, and grabbed her helmet, ushering the mercenary out the door.

  
The winter morning sunlight pierced the clouds mercilessly, highlighting the time-bleached streets and reflecting the bits and pieces of glass that remained in the windows. The wind bit her skin through her road leathers, and she knew the walk back to Sanctuary would be a miserable one.

  
“Okay, right. First priority: find Preston and get the hell out of the city.”

  
“The Minuteman?” He already sniffled from the cold.

  
“Right. Tall, big hat. You'll know him when you see hi-" She was cut short when she ran face first into Preston's chest. The collision offset her mask and she stopped to fix it.

  
“Found him,” MacCready chuckled.

  
“Hey, General. What's going on? Who's this?”

  
“Preston Garvey, RJ MacCready. RJ MacCready, Preston Garvey. He's going to help me with the Glowing Sea thing.”

  
Preston's dark eyes scoured the merc for any ulterior motive, where none could be found.

  
“The Glowing Sea thing, huh? Didn’t think you were the type to take up with mercenaries.”

  
“Oh, get fucked, Preston. I’m basically a mercenary, am I not?”

  
“Your alliance can’t be bought, General.”

  
“Stop that. Just last week, the Brotherhood of St-"

  
“Anaïs, you know what I mean.” The tension could have snapped under the slightest pressure.

  
“Clearly, Preston, I do not. Now, I expect you to drop it.” The glare behind her mask would have broke a lesser person, but she knew Preston could take it. Hell, he probably even expected it from her.

  
“Right. I, um, sorry. To both of you,” he mumbled, looking down at his feet.

  
“It's fine, Preston. Did you pick up some supplies?” she asked, clapping him on the shoulder and walking towards the spot she killed someone just the day before.

  
“Yeah, fusion cells, .10 mil, superglue, some mutfruit, Rad-X, and a whetstone. I remember you said your knife was getting dull.”

  
“Nítido. Mac, anything you needed before we head out?”

  
“I’m all set. Ammo, stimpaks, food. I’m ready to get going and get the heck out of this cold.” He shivered, involuntarily pulling his rifle closer.

  
“I can agree with that,” the Minuteman huffed.

  
A thin layer of frost coated the ruins of Boston, the defined footprints giving away the location of every person and creature. They moved quietly and quickly through the detritus, deftly avoiding anything that would hinder their travel. The followed the Charles River out of the city, hiding from Super Mutants and ferals alike. The raiders were typically smart enough to avoid the cold like this. A walk that would've taken Anaïs about an hour before the bombs stretched into an all day trek.

  
“Okay. We're coming up in Cambridge. There will be ferals. There will be Brotherhood soldiers. Please, don't say anything to get yourself shot or thrown out of the station.” The vault dweller was the first to enter the compound, waving to the knight stationed outside in her power armor. Preston and MacCready were both tense as they walked past her.

  
“Ma’am,” the knight said behind her helmet.

  
“Knight,” Anaïs responded. “The Brotherhood knows me as the General. Don't act so surprised, guys.”

  
The hinges on the door squealed as Anaïs pushed them open. Soldiers sat at the tables to the right of the door, cleaning their guns or playing with mismatched decks of cards. Haylen was the first to notice her and beamed a bright smile.

  
“Hey, General! I think Danse is in the back if you were looking for him.” Haylen always lifted Anaïs's spirits.

  
“Thanks, Haylen. By the way, these are my friends, Garvey and MacCready. Commonwealth Minutemen.” This made MacCready scoff quietly behind her as they walked through the narrow doorway to the old cells.

  
“I’m part of the Minutemen now? Gee, I dunno what to say,” he laughed.

  
“They like the Minutemen. Besides, it’s easier than the truth,” she whispered, pulling the helmet from her face. “Danse? You back here?”

  
Her question was answered with a loud clang of something hard against metal followed by a quiet ‘shit,’ then the skittering of a metal tool across the floor. She leaned against the doorframe and smiled at the man crouched in the middle of the room with a knuckle in his mouth.

  
“¿Que lo que, papa?” The buckles on her armor rattled as she breached the space between them. He stood and embraced her in a warm hug, making her giggle, sweet and quiet.

  
“Hey, Nees,” he cooed. Danse tightened the hug and made Anaïs groan and laugh before letting her go.

  
“How ya been?” she asked, pushing an errant hair behind her ear.

  
“Good. Really good. The Prydwen showing up lit a fire inside, or something. Elder Maxson said he wants to meet you.”

  
“Oh, does he now? Conclave with the general of the Minutemen?” she teased.

  
“I hardly feel like it would be anything quite like that..”

  
“Well, when I visit the Prydwen, you'll be the first to know.” She liked Danse and Haylen enough, but she definitely couldn’t stand behind the Brotherhood's ideals. From behind her, Preston cleared his throat, gaining their attention.

  
“Paladin Danse, these are my associates, Preston Garvey and RJ MacCready.” MacCready waved awkwardly. “If you have the space, was there any way we could stay at the station for the night?” Danse glanced at the men and back to Anaïs, as if assessing the pair just outside the door.

  
“For you, anything. We'll always have a free bed for you, and your ‘associates' are lucky this time. Don't expect it again, with the arrival of the Prydwen, we will undoubtedly be getting more soldiers stationed here.”  
She smiled and reached for his hand.

  
“Thank you. Seriously. We'll be gone and out of your hair by sunrise.”

  
“Don't mention it.”

  
The night progressed and Anaïs spent her time catching up with Danse and Rhys. She caught MacCready watching her from across the room with a sour look on his face. Maybe he had a history with the Brotherhood. Maybe he didn't like police stations. Hell, maybe she was so drunk last night and this was just how he was. Whatever, she thought to herself and Rhys droned on about protocol and the hierarchy of command at the station. She had lost track of Preston and Haylen. Hopefully, he was behaving himself. Unlike MacCready, who drank his vodka and scowled.

  
“Gents, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to have a cigarette on the roof. Ponder pre-war ideals and fashion.. what have you,” she purred around a cigarette dangling from her lip. “Be back in a flash.”

  
The contrast of the night air to the stifling heat inside the station was welcomed. Speckles of light dotted the land, sparser than the stars twinkling in the sky. When it was quiet, like this, she couldn’t shake the thoughts drowning her. Her marriage fell apart. Her family fell apart. She didn't have any friends to speak of when living at Sanctuary Hills. The bleakness of her life before the bombs fell was far worse than what she was experiencing in the decimation of the country. And for that, she felt guilty.

  
She pulled a silver Zippo lighter from her jacket pocket and sat in the middle of the vertibird pad. The flickering sparks felt symbolic; symbolic for what, she couldn't tell yet. Maybe she was looking too far into it. The first drag of that stale cigarette burned her lungs in a way the frigid air couldn't have dreamed, but it made her feel alive. She exhaled deeply and laid back on the concrete. The cold seeped through her leather jacket and threadbare jeans. Luckily, she didn't mind. She curled her right arm under her head for support and crossed her ankles, and as hard as she fought it, she couldn’t stop the tears welling in her eyes. Heavy, guilty tears. She blinked hard, willing them away.

  
“Hey.”

  
Her sunken eyes opened slowly at MacCready's voice.

  
“Hey, yourself,” she breathed, taking the cigarette back between her lips. He sat next to her, his lanky legs crossed under him.

“What's up?”

  
“Uh, nothin’. Taking it all in, I guess.” His voice was loaded with something unspoken. “I know it's not really my place, but I gotta ask: are you okay?”

  
Shit, she thought to herself and scoffed.

  
“Well, no, if I’m being completely honest,” she said and propped herself up on her elbows. “My son was kidnapped, my husb-, ex-husband was murdered in front of me, my morality has shifted into some ambiguous, grey blob, I’m 210 years away from where I should be, give or take, and my hired gun caught me crying on a rooftop.” He was silent for a moment.

  
“Er, I wasn't really expecting complete honesty,” he practically whispered. “Is it too late to take it back?” Anaïs appreciated him trying to lighten the mood.

  
“No, sorry.. I have a lot on my mind.” She looked up at him as he was fumbling with his own lighter. “Here, let me.” She dug in her pocket for her silver Zippo and watched the flame flutter to life at the end of his cigarette.

  
“Thanks.” The vault dweller watched him smoke for a moment; the harsh lines and seriousness of his face relaxed, if only for a moment before he spoke again. “Not to pry, but you said something about not belonging here.. like, time here.”

  
“Hm. That.” She rocked her legs, looking for the words. “I was hoping I’d have more time to figure out how to explain it, but you saw me crying, so I suppose it's fair,” she began. “So, I was born in Columbia, Maryland, in the year 2053..”

  
Telling people the truth about her origins should have gotten easier as time went on. In reality, it hadn't. If anything, the questions people would ask about it afterwards were always new and sometimes kind of rude. When she told Glory, she asked if she really hadn’t had sex in over 200 years. She was dumbfounded when Deacon knew the answer to that and blurted it out in front of the entire Railroad HQ.

  
“I'm not sure what to say, Anaïs. I know being a vault dweller can weird out some people, but you were a science experiment. Stuck in a deep freeze-"

  
“Like some long-forgotten TV dinner. Yeah, it's weird.” She squished the butt of her cigarette into the painted concrete. “I try not to tell a lot of people.”

  
“Preston knows?”

  
She nodded wordlessly.

  
“Does your boyfriend?”

  
“Who?” MacCready scoffed at her answer.

  
“Your boyfriend. Danse. Does he know?” His sharp blue eyes looked bored into her and she laughed.

  
“Híjole, Mac. If I didn't know better, I’d think you were jealous,” she teased and tapped his leg with the back if her hand. “Yes, he knows; no, he's not my boyfriend.”

  
“I thought by the way you acted that, you and him were, ya know, a thing.”

  
“Hmph. He's handsome, but he's too puritanical for my taste.” MacCready flicked his cigarette across the broad landing pad to burn out. “I mean, if he asked, I’d let him,” Anaïs snorted.

  
“Jesus..,” he groaned.

  
“And if he was good, I’d let him more than once.”

  
“Oh my god, Anaïs.”

  
“I’m kidding. He wouldn’t ask, anyway.” She smiled over to him and he rolled his eyes. “Seriously, furthest thing from my mind. I just want to find my kid, and Danse has been a good friend.”

  
“All right, fair enough.” He didn’t look convinced.

  
“Damn right, ‘fair enough,’” she muttered, standing from her spot on the roof. “Let's go inside. I’ve been out of the vault for two months and I’m not about to let the cold kill me.” A thin, calloused hand reached down to help the mercenary to his feet. He would never admit it to her, but in the moment, he was jealous.


	4. Chapter 4

A comfortable silence had overtaken the station while they were on the roof. Rhys had left Danse alone at the table, the other soldiers had began to bunk up for the night.

“We leave and people scatter.” MacCready scanned the empty police station.

“No kidding. What did you say to ‘em?” The metal chair screeched slightly as Anaïs pulled it out from the table. 

“What? I di- oh.” The paladin smiled sheepishly and the others chuckled.

“Sit with us, Mac,” she said, popping the cap from a room temperature beer. “Do you play cards?” Her nimble fingers cut and shuffled the deck of cards.

“What's your game?” he asked. She looked up at him with a twinkle in her eyes that was dead set on taking all his caps.

“Omaha Hold‘em.” She gracefully bridged the cards together almost as if they weren't quite solid.

“Omaha?” He looked at Danse who was no help.

“We could play Texas, Razz, Chicago Low.. Go Fish?”

“I know how to play Texas Hold'em,” Danse interjected.

“I do, too, but I don’t think I’m in any place to wager my caps.” He suddenly seemed very protective of his money. Pre-war, he would have been called miserly by any other person asking him to play. Never mind he was wagering something she and every other person alive used to consider garbage.

“Not a problem,” Anaïs said nonchalantly. “We could play for clothes.” Both of the men scoffed.

“I'm going to pass on that: I’m only wearing a jumpsuit and would be severely disadvantaged.” Danse was bright pink above his dark stubble.

“That's the point, papa.” She didn't know his blush could deepen, but it did. “We can just play for fun. Or like truth or dare.”

“I'll beat you for bragging rights,” MacCready laughed.

“What, RJ? Afraid to tell me all your secrets?” It was his turn to blush as she distributed cards across the table, effectively setting up the game.

“Watch yourself, civilian. She's crafty,” Danse advised while she dealt and raised her eyebrows goadingly.

“Don't worry about Danse, either. He’s a terrible liar,” she smirked and the merc sat at the table.

“Say what you want, but I will take that as a compliment.” 

“Huh, I must've misspoke.” She smiled wide and took a swig of her beer. “¿Dime a ver? Why bring a war ship to the Commonwealth? It seems.. aggressive.” The corners of the mismatched cards lifted to show her hand and she looked up to him for an answer.

“I'm not at liberty to say, exactly.”

“It doesn't seem like they're here for a parade,” Mac chimed in, fidgeting with the pair of cards in his hands. Anaïs snorted indignantly. Danse's heavy brow furrowed with mild frustration.

“We are kidding, Danse. With the threat of the Institute, I get it.” MacCready looked shocked by her words. “Seriously. If you aren't afraid of what the Institute is capable of, you’re lying to yourself. I know we're come down on opposite ends when it comes to synths, but you know they have something big planned if they can.. oh, I dunno, fabricate convincing humans.” She looked at the flop cards and did her best to maintain her composure. “Mac, your bet.” He cleared his throat.

“So, what? One truth? Is that how we're doing this?”

“I think that’s acceptable. I'll raise. Two truths.” Danse's stoic demeanor was perfect for this game, until he opened his mouth.

“You think you needed to raise right out of the gate? Prove yourself, Paladin? Eh?” Anaïs's eyes were focused, leaning towards Danse, hoping to make him nervous.

“Uh-huh.” Danse tried his best to keep it together, but swallowed hard, giving it all away. She backed off immediately.

“Oh, okay, because I fold. Whoever dealt these cards is a lout,” she laughed. Danse groaned and rested his face in his hands.

“You’re a pain,” he mumbled.

“But I'm cute,” she tittered, flipping the next card.

“Yeah, you're cute..,” he trailed off. Anaïs looked up to watch MacCready roll his eyes.

“What? You don't think I am?” She feigned offense. “Your check.”

“Not even a little. Terrifying, maybe. You shot a man in Goodneighbor for trying to extort you.”

“Come on..,” For once, she was the one who sounded exhausted.

“I'll call.” His steely, blue eyes locked on Danse.

“Raise. Three.” He paused. “Wait, you shot someone in Goodneighbor?”

“Bitches gotta learn,” she muttered, avoiding his judgmental gaze. “Besides, the General of the Minutemen will not be threatened by common riffraff.” She finished the rest of the beer with a grimace. Warm beer wasn’t good by any means, but once it went skunk, she could barely keep her distaste to herself. She exaggerated and screwed up her face, flipping the last card.

“Hm. Raise. Five.” MacCready said, sounding sure of himself. The paladin took a drink of his own beer, watching MacCready for any tell.

“Call.”

“Oh, shit, boys. We've got a game, here. We're gonna learn a lot about someone!” Her unbridled joy made her jittery. She loved hearing other people's secrets.

“Yeah, we are.” He wagged his eyebrows, flipping his cards. “Full house.”

“Shit,” he hissed under his breath, tossing his cards to the center of the table. “Two pair.”

“Oh, Danse. Oh no. Truth time, big guy.” She failed to stifle her giggles. 

“Do your worst..”

MacCready hummed before speaking, a mischievous spark illuminating his face.

“Have you ever had a crush on a superior ranking officer?”

“No.”

“A lower rank?”

“Christ, no,” he groused.

“How about a General?” the merc inquired coolly, leaning his metal chair onto its backs legs.

“Singa tu mai,” she berated. Danse's mouth hung open at the question and he looked back and forth between the pair. Anaïs shook her head and ran her fingers through her hair, visibly frustrated by his question.

“I don't mean any harm here. This is all for fun, right?” 

“Oh, yeah, so much fun,” she growled.

“Yes,” Danse sighed. Anaïs shot him a questioning look before he clarified. “Yes, I have a crush on the General of the Minutemen, but I know her priority right now is finding her son, and I will not be the one to be selfish enough to distract her.”

Her brown eyes softened, tears threatening to spill over her dark lashes. She had always known Danse was a good person. She didn’t realize he was this good.

“Danse..”

He gave her a small smile before taking a drink of his beer. A light blush spread over the bridge of her nose and she looked down at her hands.

“Gross.” Mac scrunched his nose. “Knew it, though. Have you ever let anyone take the blame for something you did?”

“Only once. The guilt I felt afterwards was more punishment than necessary..”

Her head was still reeling. Everything else was tuned out. It had been years since someone actually, truly liked her. Nate said he loved her, but that felt like bullshit since before they were ever married. She knew none of her friends would approve, especially not Deacon, but she couldn’t help but consider the possibility. After she found Shaun, of course. She wondered to herself about his skills as a kisser, which was something she was certain they hadn’t covered in basic training.

“Boss? You’re up.” The next hand had been dealt and she was busy daydreaming about the paladin's stubble brushing along her clavicle.

“Oh! Oh, right.”

The game continued like this into the night, secrets shared by all. It had been revealed that MacCready is afraid of deep water, Danse can't snap his fingers, and Anaïs had, in fact, had sex since leaving the vault. Beer bottles accumulated on a nearby table, stacked in a precarious pyramid, threatening to topple and wake the entire station. Any sort of tension they had experienced early in the evening had since dissipated in laughter and they had let their guards down. The structure of the game had dissolved sometime around the fifth round of cards and now they were merely answering embarrassing questions with no hesitation.

“Anaïs, when was the last time you pissed yourself?” MacCready snickered.

“Uh,” she chuckled, hoping to ease into it, “I was in the vault.. it was, it was when Nate was shot. I was so sure I was next, you know? And it just sort of..” She gestured a gushing motion with her hand as she took a prolonged drink. Awkward laughter died when she spoke.

“Shit. I’m sorry, boss. I didn't mea-"

“It's fine. More or less. Listen, I need to be okay with talking about it. I can’t have my past knocking me on my ass every time someone says something, right?” She shrugged, unbuckling the leather strap across her chest and removing the studded armor.

“I guess that makes sense.” He didn't sound convincing. She worried if it was too macabre or she was avoiding the actual issue. If she was being completely honest with herself, she knew it would catch up with her. Probably when she was alone. He sighed,drawing her attention back to the men sitting with her.

“What was it like? Before the bombs?” MacCready rested his head in his palm, leaning forward to listen to her reminiscing.

“Cleaner. Less rust. More propaganda.” She closed her eyes, trying to picture Sanctuary without all the debris. “We are going to my house from before the war tomorrow. I can show you better then.”

“You lived in Sanctuary before the war?” Danse spoke up. “I knew that's where the vault was, but I thought you had to travel to get there.” Her arms folded across her chest with a sigh and she looked up to the ceiling.

“Yeah, the house we stayed in was mine. Nate found it about a month after we got married, moved us out of the mountains and into a suburb. He liked it because it was blue and it was set up for a nursery.”

“It was in remarkable shape..”

“We have Codsworth to thank for that.” She looked forward to seeing him again. Someone else who understood the loss made her feel less alone.

“What else was different?” MacCready's curiosity made her smile.

“Everything, papi. There was always some sort of entertainment: music, movies, shows. By today's standards, it would've been overstimulating. The roads weren't tore to shit, dogs had fur, and mirelurks were called crabs and you could catch them with a chicken neck tied to a string. And the food was a million times better and not radioactive,” she chattered. “God, if I could make you chivo guisado, you would lose your fucking minds.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Sometimes. I think I miss cars most of all. I don’t think I’ve ever been so cold so many consecutive days. It's getting easier, though. Being around people helps keep my mind off things. Knowing Shaun's still out there keeps me focused.” She smiled bleakly. Her eyes looked tired, sunken and dull, and the angry, red scars pulled tightly along her mouth, jutting out in all directions, like lightning. “I’m going to have another cigarette and turn in for the night. It's getting late and we have another long walk ahead of us.” She stood from the table and pulled a cigarette from her pack. “Good night, guys.”

“Good night, Nees,” Danse spoke quietly.

“Night, boss.”

She trudged back down the stairs after her cigarette; this one burnt more than the last. Perhaps it had something to do with the tightness in her chest and fighting back traitorous tears, but she wouldn’t admit that. The main room of the station was empty. It was odd, the building being this quiet when it was so busy and full of life only a few moments ago. She thought of returning to Sanctuary for the first time after the vault. Everyone was just there. Mr. Smith was working in the yard, watering his chrysanthemums. Ms. Rosa and Louis were working on their Corvega, like usual. The Sumners were sitting under their car port, likely discussing paint colors for their home. And then everyone simply wasn't. And that was it. They were all gone. Everyone.

She breathed deeply, warding off the tears. One more sleep, then home, she thought to herself, walking into the back room where all the bunks were. Pitch black and soft snores embraced her. The soft, viridescent glow illuminated sleeping Brotherhood soldiers, guiding her way to the single empty cot at the back of the room. She sat on the cot, unlacing her boots, unbuckling her shin armor, and sliding off her holster. Everything but her boots fit in her pack and she pushed it to the foot of the cot. With the removal of her gear, she could just be Anaïs. Not the General. Not the beleaguered vault dweller. Just Anaïs. 

Her hands slipped along the scratchy, polyester surface and she recoiled when she found something sticky near the head of the bed. She lit the screen of her Pip Boy, revealing a decent sized stain of what she assumed to be blood. Anaïs hissed in disgust, loud enough to wake the scribe closest to her cot. He sat up in his cot and whispered something to her.

“What did you say?” she whispered louder.

“I said, ‘I got a bloody nose.’ Sorry,” he apologized. He laid his head back on the pillow. Not sorry enough to move back to his pool of blood, apparently, she thought to herself. She stood from the cot, muttering to herself. Her light revealed Danse's silhouette and she covered the screen until it darkened.

“Danse, scoot over.”

“Hmm?” He was already half asleep.

“Let me sleep next to you tonight,” she breathed, already settling against his chest.

“I, okay.” His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer. She could feel his breathe, warm and relaxing against the back of her neck. This was fine, she told herself. Just for tonight, then we're on the road.  
Finally, after what felt like hours of laying perfectly still, she drifted off into another night of restless sleep.

Panic. They're gone. Everyone she knew and loved was gone. And she was relieved. What type of monster is happy about that? The type they promote to General? The type several communities rely on? Is that it? She awoke with a gasp, still being held in Danse's arms prevented her from shooting up out of the cot. It was a wonder the racing of her heart didn't wake the paladin. Anaïs lifted his arm and stood from the bed.

He looked so serene laying there. The pale glow of her Pip Boy draped itself over the planes and contours of Danse's face. His full lips. Strong nose. She had never noticed the faint scar along the length of his eyebrow. Though, scars were no rarity in the Commonwealth, and she learned quickly not to ask about their origins. Preston was the one to tell her about that just before she got her own scars from a deathclaw smashing her power armor helmet. She chewed at the inside of her cheek, feeling the raised scars on the other side.

Her bones felt their age as she put on her boots and armor. Some of the younger Brotherhood knights were already up, ready to start their rounds of the city. Preston was already up, looking refreshed and at ease among the current company.

“Hey, Garvey. Where'd you run off to last night?” she asked, adjusting the strap of her chest piece.

“Oh, hey, General. I was with Scribe Haylen. Talking about farming settlements, people who needed support, so on.."

“¡Qué bacano! That will be helpful. The Brotherhood has proven to be quite the asset, eh?”

“You were right about them. This squadron, at least,” he said, lowering his voice.

“Right. We'll see about the rest of them as soon as we have a lead on Shaun.” She was nothing, if not hopeful. She sat at an empty table, drawing her handgun from its nylon holster on her right thigh to inspect it before continuing their journey. Preston sat next to her, fine-tuning his musket.

“So, any more thoughts on MacCready?” she asked in a hushed tone.

“He seems okay, so far,” Preston responded.

“Has he done or said anything to prove otherwise?”

“Well, no, but I-"

“Exactly. Besides, this could be a steady flow of caps for him, and based on something he said last night, he needs this. If he does anything to cut this tie, or fuck me over, he loses the money and gains every Minuteman as an enemy.” She looked up from her gun to watch Danse walk out of the back room. He was back in his usual power armor, towering over everyone else in the room. “Danse seems okay with him, too, but he still thinks he's a Minuteman.” Preston could barely hear her over the whirring pistons and heavy footsteps.

“Good morning, Anaïs. Preston.”

“Buenas,” she purred to him. “Sleep well?” The familiar blush crept across his cheeks with a smile.

“Hm? Oh, yes, I did. Were you comfortable? In the compound?” he said, stumbling over his words.

“Slept like a baby.”

“Glad you did, because someone in there snored like a mutant hound,” MacCready groused, entering as if by clockwork.

“Sí, and I slept in the same bunk as him,” she teased, glancing up at Danse. Luckily, he gave her a good-natured chuckle and shook his head. 

“How soon we headin' out, boss?” MacCready asked, crouching to tie his boots. She looked down the sights of her Sig with one eye before answering him.

“As soon as you are ready, pana,” she chirped, giving him a quick smile when she looked away from her gun. “It is a longer walk than yesterday, but there are more friendly settlements, so we have places to rest.”

“Ready whenever you are.”

“Preston?”

“Ready.” 

She slipped the gun back into the holster and she stood from the table with a small grunt. The olive colored pack was slung unceremoniously over her shoulders as the four walked toward the door. The winter sun barely spilled into the early morning sky, oranges and corals warming the dense navy blue, welcoming them into the waste. She shivered, despite the fact that it was considerably warmer than the previous days, and held her helmet in her hands.

“What's your plan then?” Danse asked, overlooking the barricaded plaza. “Go to Sanctuary, then what?” The yellow light reflected in his russet eyes like warm honey. She scoffed, already knowing the reaction her answer would receive.

“Hm.” She smiled and grabbed the handle towards the collar of his power armor, pulling him down into a kiss. Gently, almost as if he was worried he'd break her, his hands cupped her face, deepening the kiss. As suddenly as it began, she pulled away. “I wanted to see what that was like before I went to the Glowing Sea.”

“The Glowing Sea? You're completely sure?”

“I am. The clues point me there. I have to find Shaun, Danse.”

He sighed, defeated, “I know. Be safe. You can't kiss a guy like that and never see him again. Okay?” He brushed her hair behind her ears to take in all the features of her face: the freckles on the bridge of her nose, the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled at him, the striations of dark brown and copper in her eyes.

“Okay, papi,” she said, guiding him in for another short kiss.

“Gallagher, we really should get moving..” Preston chimed in from somewhere near the alley. His words spurred her lips into pressing more firmly against Danse's, and he groaned into the effort before she slipped away. MacCready had already began his was through the alley, avoiding the scene altogether.

“You're right. Vamos.” She made it into the alleyway before popping her head back out. Danse maintained his position on the concrete steps. She smiled at him from underneath her helmet, “Thanks for everything.”


End file.
